


Lonely Boy

by GettheSalt



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Familial Abuse, Gen, Mentions of Skye & Coulson & May, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettheSalt/pseuds/GettheSalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone needs a safe place. Especially when your house is not a home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I was suddenly struck with the urge to write something to the tune of a high school AU. This is the product.

“Oh… Sorry, I can go, I didn’t know you’d—”

Leo smiles, and sighs, and waves a hand, all in the same instant that Jemma does the same, and that stills Grant in the tree. The two have been friends since the first grade – Brits bonding and whatnot, Grant supposes, he wouldn’t know – and he’s gotten used to the weird hivemind mentality that they have, but it’s still weird to see it when he’s like this. Shook up and not sure what he wants or needs, just that whatever it is, it’s here.

“It’s fine, Grant, come on,” Leo says, standing up out of his desk chair to approach the open window. Jemma nods from his bed, scooting to the end and stepping off to join them as Grant reaches up, grabbing the sturdy branch above his head, and maneuvers himself into the room, over the windowsill, feet first. Each of them put a hand against his back to guide him safely into Leo’s room. He ducks to get under the window, and then straightens, side-stepping to stand against the wall, shooting Jemma an apologetic look.

“Sorry to crash study night?” he tries lamely, and she shakes her head, the light from the street glinting on her loose hair.

“Don’t apologise, Grant,” she says gently, laying a hand on his arm. “ _You_ have nothing to be sorry for.”

Jemma knows, at least, and that makes it easier. There was no way Grant could tell Leo without it getting to her, and he knew that when he explained to the Scot about his home situation. The two of them have some kind of strange bond of secrecy and understanding with him. Of their small group of – what would Grant call them? Friends? – Skye is the only one who doesn’t know. It’s because Skye, due to all her goodness, wouldn’t be able to not try and help by telling her social worker dad, Phil Coulson, even if Grant begged her on his knees.

Begging on his knees had worked for Leo and Jemma. Telling them that he could handle it, that he didn’t mind a few bruises if it kept Louis and Charlotte safe, he just needed a place to pretend, every once in a while. Pretend that he wasn’t bruised to hell under the sleeves and collars and waistbands and hems of his clothing, and that he isn’t marked deeper than that by the things that were said while those bruises were given. Neither of them were happy with it, but they understood. It would stay between them, no one’s parents needed to know.

Grant’s grandparents are too old to take care of four children, and they don’t have any other close relatives. Breaking them up isn’t an option, and that’s what would happen if they involved children’s services. Grant’s hope is that, in seven months, when he turns 18, he’ll have enough money saved up for first and last month’s rent, and he’ll be able to get himself and his younger siblings out, somewhere safe, where their parents and Maynard can’t lay a hand on them.

Mr. Coulson, and his long-time girlfriend, Melinda May, would help if they knew, and Jemma and Leo tell him that almost bi-weekly. Maybe, in seven months, he’ll turn to them. For now, the clock’s reading 10:34PM and everyone at his home is in bed and quiet. It was safe for him to come over here.

It was safe for him to climb up the tree that Leo’s dubbed the escape ladder, and slip in the window, hoping for a few rounds of Mario Kart or something to numb the painful, stinging buzz in his stomach. It’s become something of a tradition with the two of them. Leo doesn’t ask questions, he just runs downstairs and grabs them both a drink, and then settles in next to Grant on the bed and gives him whatever he needs, controller in hand.

“Still, I feel bad. You guys are going to nationals for science next week, aren’t you?” He asks it like he doesn’t know exactly the day and time they’re leaving. “I don’t want to interrupt preparation or anything.”

“Actually,” Leo says, shooting Jemma a snarky smile. “We were debating over who the best Doctor was, so, I promise, you’re not interrupting anything.”

“He continues to be deluded,” Jemma says, affecting a haughty tone, tugging Grant over to the bed. “Mario Kart, right? I should be heading home anyway, mum will be getting worried.” She pushes him until he sits, all lanky limbs and little grace, and then leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, finding his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. “Take care of yourself, Grant. Please.”

He nods, unable to quench his smile at her touch, her concern, and watches her leave, not before she envelopes Leo in a tight hug. When the door shuts behind her, Leo grabs the controllers from the small table his television sits on, climbing onto the bed and crossing his legs, setting one of the controllers down on the mussed sheets for Grant to take.

When he does, Leo frowns, grabbing his wrist, gentle but firm, inspecting the bruising curling up from the joint of his index finger. “It’s not broken, is it?”

“I can use it,” Grant answers quietly, like that decides it. In a way, it does.

Leo nods, frown still curling the corners of his mouth down, letting go and settling in, shoulder the shoulder with Ward, as the familiar game screen fills his television. “Ready to lose?”

Grant chuckles, glancing over at him with a raised eyebrow. “What, you think this time will be different than all the others?”

“I’ve got a gut feeling.”

That one gets an actual laugh out of the dark haired teen, and he shakes his head, grinning, crossing his legs on the bed, and settling in to spend an hour or two with his best friend, blissfully forgetting that his home is a warzone.


End file.
